Oranges
by Anigen
Summary: Lydia after Peter's resurrection, taking place as the alpha pack moves in but in an augmented time. DARK Still his perfect girl. His perfectly peeled orange. His perfect puppet. His chess piece.


Oranges

Pt. 1 : Lydia

She hated the smell of oranges, it was a recent development. But just as pertinent as her desire to never consume a pear out of fear that one day the minor allergy she had developed as a child would become full blown and there would be nothing there to save her. But this particular development, she was sure, was the result of Peter Hale, and his gaunt inside of her mind.

It was strange, at first the smell hadn't bothered her. It was just something she noticed, when they were around, and in California they were always around. But usually it was Scott or Stiles, who tended to eat when they were nervous and Melisa had been nice enough to pack Scott extra snacks. Normally it's no big deal, Scott peels his orange and she doesn't look. She doesn't stare at the way that his fingers turn slightly red at the tips, and the nails easily pierce through the tough, marbled flesh allowing the juice to pool under Scott's nails along with bits of flesh as Scott pulled the skin away, allowing a spray of juices to sprinkle over the table. But things were different since Stiles found her, and even more so as she began remembering more and more of her days with Peter stuck in her head and the days since she left her hospital bed. She constantly found herself zoning out while her friends talked about what they would do now that Peter was back, and what the psychotic werewolf could be planning. She tried to focus but she always found herself being pulled back into her memories as she attempted to outrun her nightmare… to outrun Peter Hale.

He made a game of it, leading her somewhere then letting her go, and actually appearing to her instead of just remaining as a ghost in her mind. When he did he wasn't the younger version of himself that he'd originally tricked her with but his older self, the one she assumed that Scott and the others had met at some point before his original death. He used to lead her through the orange groves, his favorite place, he'd tell her. "They're the perfect fruit" he said as he palmed the ripening fruit as they hung from the tree, his voice echoing in her mind over and over again. Sometimes she'd play along and as "why's that" and giggle just the way that he wanted her too as he got too close or stroked just the right parts of her brain, moving her like a puppet. Occasionally she'd resist and shy away from his lips as they ghosted over her own and he tried to garner a genuine response other than fear from her. He liked to whisper in her ear as his hands ran across her body that she was just like the oranges.

"There's always something more, right below the surface. You've just got to peel away the flesh" At this he'd find some way to touch her. She'd shy away if she could. Sometimes he'd make her stay and sometimes he'd make her like the way he'd whisper in her ears or move his hands over her body. Other times he'd rejoice in her fear the way that as soon as she could she'd take off running. Not caring about the sticks as they broke under her bare feet, the small cuts that they'd make in her skin, the twigs in her hair or that her hospital gown was but a memory, just like her party dress and whatever else he'd let her think she was wearing. She'd figured out that was a pipe dream, they'd just get in the way.

He calls her his perfect girl, whispers it in her ears as he moves her body in the way that he likes. He says that she was the key to his plans, even before he died. He couldn't die with her still around. He takes her back to the woods and the orange groves every times she closes her eyes, even before she knows that the guy that bit her, that left her bleeding in the middle of the lacrosse field was the boy with the blue and green eyes who offered her flowers and kept appearing when she needed someone. But he was, and he wouldn't let her forget it, wouldn't let her move past the way she once looked at his haunting eyes. Instead forcing her to focus on the way that he made her feel something, locked her in her mind then puppeted her around her friends. Made her smile, like nothing was wrong, like he wasn't ripping her apart and made her watch as they continued to not notice and not tell her what's happening. "If they cared they'd tell you why I'm here. They'd know that something was wrong" he'd tell her as he ran his hands through her brain and her own through her hair. " But they don't because they know you're mine, my perfect girl."

He leant her his strength when she dragged Derek through the woods, made it seem like a gift. Like he made her stronger than she could have been and as she walked through the woods he'd make her tell him thank you. He made sure that carrying Derek wasn't a struggle and he would tell her that he was making it easier on her. That this was her decision and after all of this it would be alright, he'd be out of her head and she'd be free. But even then she knew that was a lie.

Now he's real and everyone knows what he did and the fact that he's still around. And part of her hates that she's supposed to be fine with it. The way that Allison, Stiles and the others are fine with it. A mound of hate and visually stuttering when he comes around but ultimately willing to work with him if he's useful. They all blame him, as they should but some of them… look at her like it's her fault. Like she should have been able to stop this all from happening, and she wants to scream that there was nothing she could do, that she didn't even know why this was going on and how maybe she would have stood a chance if she'd been informed but she knows even that is a lie. There was nothing she could do and nothing that can change what Peter did. She just wish they saw it that way. Or even that they saw it how it was.

Allison says that it was all in her head. But she doesn't understand how deep into her Peter became or how nothing seemed to exist but the feel of his breath on her neck as he'd sink his teeth into her flesh. It wouldn't turn her or leave a mark, in fact it would be healed the minute that he decided it should be. Usually with a kiss or a trail of small kisses from her shoulder, where his original bite was, to her lips, where he'd deepen the kiss, force her tongue to dance with his and bite her lips until they blead. His only goal seeming to be enacting his hold on her, showing that he was in control and putting her through as much pain as possible. All while reassuring her, "there's so much more to you Lydia, so many secrets and puzzles that nobody will ever understand." He would play with her hair, curling it around his finders, bringing it to his nose and occasionally running it through his lips allowing his saliva to dampen the ends and it to slap against her pale neck as he let the curl go once again.

"No one will ever see you the way I do. They'll never know you my perfect girl" he purred " I just need to peel back that thick skin of yours and " he walked his fingers up her shoulder, "everything," along her jaw, "will go," across her lips, "according to plan" and he tapped her on the nose.

She knows it wasn't real. At least not real in a way that she can describe that will make sense to Allison. How do you tell your best friend that someone basically stuck their fingers into your head, moved you how they wanted and set you like an egg timer then waited for you to go off when the time was right. How do you say that even though it was all things he did from inside her, things he made her do, things he made her see things, and that she couldn't control it was still real? And how do you tell her when the only thing she wants to do is pretend like it never happened. Because every time she brings it up Allison doesn't say anything, she nods, and sits and asks if Lydia wants to go shopping or watch a movie, or she talks about Scott. She does everything she can to avoid talking about how Lydia brought the man who killed her favorite Aunt Kate back to life. The most comforting thing the other girl had told her was that she'd have nightmares for a few weeks but eventually it would fade, she'd get back with Jackson, they'd double date with her and Scott, Lydia always scoffed at that, and things would go back to normal.

Allison didn't get it, not really. "You just need to take time and refocus, it's just like" at this point Allison would usually pause and before talking about Gerard after her mother's death and how he poisoned her mind. How he got her to shoot Isaac and how he tortured Stiles and made her think it was all ok. How it was horrible, but it made her stronger. "Just like..this" whatever this was, would do to Lydia. It was like she wanted to help, but didn't want to accept that there are some things that happen that no one can stop, that you can't prepare for and can't shoot with a crossbow. She already tried training the memories out of her head, but it didn't work. Allison tells her that she needs to face him, to show him that it meant nothing, that he didn't break her, that Lydia Martin was fearless

But he did. And she wasn't.

And he knows it.

He was in her head, moving her like a puppet through the routine, and just when she thought she was free and her strings were cut, he'd be there. Sometimes just in her peripheral vision, but more often than not, at a pack meeting. Because he lives with Derek now and someone keeps him updated on the goings on of the pack, and holding meetings in Derek's loft. Apparently the crazy big bad Alpha pack rolling into town meant that she had to "get over her issues" as Stiles put it, because "no one likes crazy uncle Peter, but we all need to stick together or the Alpha's will tear us apart." In that moment she wanted to scream. She wanted to break down, and punch him until her knuckles broke through her skin, because then maybe someone would know a fraction of how it felt, a fraction of the pain, and she'd be doing it herself.

She can't just, get over it. She wishes that she could, that it was as easy as everyone seemed to think it was and that she could just smile, make a jab at Peter being alive again and move on. Like it never bothered her, not having control and being… violated. But it wasn't something she could do. For all of her ability to compartmentalize, she couldn't separate herself from what happened. For Peter it was simple. "I needed to get out, and she was the best option. The strongest lead with the deepest roots. She really is something special." His words to the pack at the previous meeting echoed through her head along with the way his eyes rested on her and the way that Derek and Isaac moved to stand in front of her, blocking his view of her, something she knew she'd need to thank them for, but probably wouldn't get around to it. Because no matter how much the wonder twins hid her from his view he still held a smile in his eyes and he knew how much he affected her. How fucked up he'd made her, and he was happy. Because the more she cried, and flinched when he looked at her, or jumped when someone mentioned his name or that he'd be around the more he knew that she was still his.

Still his perfect girl.

His perfectly peeled orange.

His perfect puppet.

His chess piece.


End file.
